


your lips taste like chocolate

by phinnia



Series: Valentdrabbles [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phinnia/pseuds/phinnia
Summary: Crowley pulled her hair back from her face, looked at it in the mirror, and then threw her phone at it.The mirror broke into a thousand pieces.for the valentine's day challenge.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Valentdrabbles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620412
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	your lips taste like chocolate

Crowley pulled her hair back away from her face, looked at it in the mirror, and then threw her phone at it. 

The mirror broke into a thousand pieces. 

She waved it reassembled again and picked up her phone off the floor. Her phone knew better than to break. 

"Fuck." She muttered crossly, and put another layer of lip gloss on. 

Late. 

Aziraphale paced to one end of the bookshop and twisted his hands together as he fretted.

Crowley was late, and that wasn't really usual. 

Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything last evening ... but they were _free_ now, he'd waited for so long - 

Oh, he did hope Crowley hadn't been taken by Downstairs ... now he was even more worried ...

He picked up his telephone and dialed the first digits of Crowley's phone number - just as the Bentley pulled up outside the shop.

"Oh!" Crowley was wearing a truly ravishing red and gold gown this evening - it was cut very high in front and quite long, but it had a very daring, low back. "You look absolutely _marvelous_."

"Sorry about being late." She says, holding the door. "My hair is _impossible_ , it looks a fright. I couldn't do a thing with it. Not even miracles would fix it."

"It looks lovely just the way it is." Aziraphale replies. " _You_ look lovely. What pronouns would you like me to use?"

"She/her is fine." Crowley leans over and turns on the radio, which obliges them with _Killer Queen_. "Where are we going? Ritz again, or somewhere else?"

"Well, I thought perhaps French. There's a scrummy new French restaurant in Covent Garden I'd love to try."

"French it is." 

"Another glass of wine, Angel?"

"Maybe just half." Aziraphale leans back in his chair. "Oh, those dessert crepes were nearly better than the Bastille."

"Well, you don't have to worry about being discorporated this time." She smiles, looking at him over her glasses. 

He smiles back, looking at Crowley's lips. 

They look so ... moist. So plump. So kissable. 

"Angel?" Crowley murmurs, holding out a gold-manicured hand. 

"Coming." He says, trying not to flush. 

They wait awkwardly on the bookshop stairs.

"Would you like to come in?" Aziraphale murmurs. "I've got a lovely red in the back."

She nods and kicks off a pair of heels the same shade of beaten gold as her nails. 

Aziraphale fusses with the wine glasses, trying to work out whether they need coasters or not.

When he returns, he sees Crowley refreshing something on her lips. 

He hands her a glass. "What's that you're putting on?"

"Lip gloss. It's like lipstick, but clear."

"Your lips look beautiful tonight." He says. "Quite stunning, actually. I was admiring them all through supper."

"Probably the gloss." Crowley demurs. 

There is a long pause. 

"May I kiss you?" Aziraphale asks.

"Yes." Crowley whispers huskily.

Her lips are almost ... sweet. Chocolate-tasting.

"You taste of chocolate, my dear." Aziraphale murmurs.

"That is _definitely_ the gloss." Crowley replies between kisses. "It comes in flavours. I wore it just for you." 

"What sorts of flavours?"

"Oh, raspberry, strawberry. Banana." Crowley kisses him again. "Chocolate. Tea. All sorts of flavours."


End file.
